Almost human
by Arwen Imladviel
Summary: Meet my evil Elrond: cruel, self-centered, arrogant, greedy, jealous. He has a Palantír, and puts it to worse use than Denethor and Saruman together. Arwen he guards more jealously than Thingol ever. In him the worst sides of man and elf are combined.
1. The Palantír

_"We had not yet given thought to the palantíri of Gondor in its ruinous wars. By Men they were almost forgotten. Even in Gondor they were a secret known only to a few; in Arnor they were remembered only in a rhyme of lore among the Dúnedain.  
-  
They set up stones at Minas Anor, and Minas Ithil, and at Orthanc in the ring of Isengard. The chief and master of these was under the Dome of Stars at Osgiliath before its ruin. The three others were far away in the North. In the house of Elrond it is told that they were at Annúminas, and Amon Sûl, and Elendil's stone was on the Tower Hills that look towards Mithlond in the Gulf of Lune where the grey ships lie."_

- Gandalf in 'The Lord of the Rings', in a chapter with the same title as that of this humble imitation of mine.

Note on places: (to make some sense of the quote for people who only know the movies)  
Arnor: Northwestern Eriador, once a sister kingdom to Gondor, now lost.  
Minas Anor: Called Minas Tirith since 2043 Third Age  
Annúminas: Ruined Arnorian city beside lake Evendim (Nenuial)  
Amon Sûl: Weathertop  
Mithlond: The Grey Havens

**A l m o s t  
h u m a n**

_by Arwen Imladviel_

**One: The Palantír**

Elrond Half-Elven, son of Eärendil, prince of the Noldor, herald of Gil-Galad, bearer of Wilya, heir to kingdoms that no longer were, not to mention absolute supreme Lord of Imladris... all in all, a big gun, I mean bow, or possibly crossbow... anyhow, a big shot in the world known as Middle-Earth in the year 2063 Third Age

...was seated on a chair was that was almost, but not quite, a throne in a hall that was almost, but not quite, a throne-room. His position was not regal in the least, though - instead of sitting straight-backed and knees primly together, like some statue, or like a mortal's dream of an elven king, he lounged sideways, his right elbow leaning on one armrest and his left leg thrown over the other. He was leafing idly through a stack of parchment sheets.

There was a knock on the door. Elrond straightened up, took exactly the position he had lacked a moment ago, and was about to speak when he remembered something and hid the parchments under his chair.  
Straightening his back again, he spoke:  
'Enter.'  
Elladan entered, with Elrohir at his heels. Elrond relaxed - it was just his oaf of a son and his fool of a brother.  
'So, back from the wild, are you? Any news?'  
'I want a horse.' Elrohir said.  
'That's no news, Elrohir. News would be, for example, if you for a change did not want another horse.'  
'I have news, father.' Elladan said.  
'Yes?'  
'Yes.'  
'I mean, what is it?'  
'Oh! Sorry. We went with Aranarth and his rangers to the ruins of Annúminas, because they had seen trolls nearby and wanted to make sure they were not robbing graves. I killed a troll and Aranarth and Elrohir killed another one together. The pair had indeed been robbing graves and eating bones - bones of the sons and daughters of Númenor! Bones of your brother's people, father.'  
'Yes, that is terrible, do continue.' Elrond kept his expression neutral, hiding his impatience.  
'We covered the graves again and Aranarth decided the rangers would increase their patrols in the vicinity of the ruins. We camped nearby for the night, Elrohir stood watch and I went for a walk. I found some tracks made by the trolls, and followed them to the hillside outside the walls of the ruined city. There they had unearthed another body and taken most of the bones, but not from a grave. It was the body of someone who had been killed by the stones of the broken wall falling on top of him or her, with the remains of several horses around the human's last resting place. Poor soul, forgotten, left for the crows!'  
'Yes, I understand your pain. Do continue.'  
'I found the metal parts of the saddles and reins, and one horse helmet. Some had corroded, but some still showed their decoration - and in all of these, the sigils were those of noble Númenorean families. You know I know all of those by heart. I rolled the stones off the body, and found beside it a rotting leather sack. On the leather Elendil's sigil was stitched with silver thread. Inside the bag, there was only this.'  
He showed his father the canvas bundle he had been carrying under his arm. With a dramatic gesture, he unveiled the object it contained. It was an orb of black stone.

'A Palantír?'  
'Is it? But I thought the lost stones of Arnor perished with Arvedui!' 'So the Dúnedain keep telling us. But I wonder... nobody knows what, precisely, became of Arvedui, so how can they know for certain what he took with him? Maybe someone was sent for the jewel, but died on the way back, and it was his remains that you found... bring me the stone, my son.'  
Elladan obeyed.

Elrond cradled the stone in his arms and looked at it with a strange tenderness, a tenderness Elladan had never seen in his eyes when he had looked at his sons. Only for their sister Arwen had such smiles been reserved, when she had been a little girl. The stone changed colour from black to indigo, but what Elrond saw in it Elladan did not know. For a long time he gazed into it, then he sighed, and the stone turned black again.  
'Thank you, my son. You have brought me a mighty gift. Tell me, does Aranarth know of this, or anyone else outside this room?'  
'No. I thought I would ask your counsel before telling him.'  
'That was wise. Very wise. I know this stone belongs to Elendil's line, but there is no king on the throne of Gondor - Aranarth lives in denial of his heritage. He is not strong enough for magic like this. Also, being an unskilled human only, he would in using it not only see but also be seen, perhaps by enemy eyes. You must understand I am only protecting him and his line until the return of the king, and taking care of his interests, just as I am custodian of the shards of Nársil.'  
'Yes, father.'  
'You may go. Both of you.'  
Elladan left the room, but Elrohir stubbornly remained.

'Father, I want a horse.'  
'You have thirteen already.'  
'Yes, and I've been worried about it ever since Lathron gave birth to Orodben. Thirteen is an unlucky number.'  
'Well, sell one.'  
'You know I can't! I love them like children!'  
'All right. Where's this horse you want?'  
'In Rohan. A black mare of the Mearas, three years old. One of Aranarth's men told me about her - he said no man has been able to tame her. You know I just love challenges like that. Especially when I have a change of besting the men of Rohan.'  
'So, are you likely to get her cheaper, because of her bad temper?'  
'I'm not sure. They know I'll treat her well, but they're also sort of jealous of my skills.'  
'Take Elladan with you. He gets along with men so well, he can haggle for you. He'd better, for I'm not giving you any extra allowance this month.'  
'Why not? I killed half a troll.'  
'You know the rules. I only pay for half-done jobs if you do them together with your brother. Also, I'm giving Elladan a double bonus because of the gift he brought me. You don't think I'm made of money, do you?'  
'No, but -' Elrond interrupted him:  
'But what?'  
'I could tell Aranarth about that interest of his you're protecting.'  
Elrohir smiled what he no doubt thought was a shrewd smile, and pointed at the Palantír.  
'Threatening your father, are you? Apologise at once - or we'll eat horse steak tomorrow.'  
'Noooo! I'm sorry! Please forgive me, Daddy!'  
'You better take care nobody learns of the stone - for I will surely hold you responsible whether it is your fault or not.'  
'Yes, father.'

Elrohir left the chamber. Elrond smiled, and cradled his new treasure in his arms. He was not going to tell anyone about the stone, ever. He would think up some story about the Palantír's disappearance as soon as he learned for certain what became of Arvedui. Hopefully, by then several generations of the Dúnedain would have passed, telling him all their secrets, trusting him to pass them on to their descendants... Elrond grinned wickedly at the thought.

Then he did what he had longed for since the moment the stone was in his arms: he looked into it to see where the other six stones were, and what they were seeing.

Elendil's stone in the Elven tower looked out to sea, as it always did, towards the West, as it always would.

The next stone looked at sea, too - but from below. Clams and sea anemones had attached themselves to its surface. A fish was eating algae off the stone. Elrond did not particularly like the look of a sea anemone's underside, so he reminded himself not to look at this stone again too soon.

The stone of Osgiliath was in a pitch-black, silent place.

The stone of Orthanc was in a room of the tower on a pedestal. So. Saruman still had it. Interesting. And he, too, was keeping it secret. Surely not anyone else in the White Council? For a while he wondered if the black silent place was, in truth, Mithrandir's bag.

The stone of Minas Anor was in the royal treasury. It stood on a pedestal but was covered with cobwebs.

The stone of Minas Ithil was - oh no - still in Minas Ithil. Too bad Minas Ithil was under new management, and renamed Minas Morgul, Tower of Sorcery. The Witch-King of Angmar turned on his throne - the bastard had a proper throne, and throne-room, crown and all, bit sombre perhaps, but definitely kingly - to look at the stone, which was on a pedestal near him. He gestured with his hand, and the stone slowly floated to him.  
'Who are you?' He asked in his ghastly zombie voice.  
Elrond conceived an illusion and set it before the Witch-King - a mighty, radiant shape clad in blue on a golden throne, with a tall, unearthly, beautiful woman standing beside him. The shape seemed to hold the Palantír between thumb and forefinger, like a man might hold some much smaller stone. He spoke with a voice like thunder, all illusion, heard only by the Witch-King:  
'I am Manwë, lord of Arda. At last has this jewel returned to the land where it was made. I need it not to see you, nor will I soil my hands in disposing of you, thief of graves. In time my people will destroy you - until then, you may pretend to be king, but happiness you will not know, not for a moment. This jewel I will give to the people of Tirion, but before that, I will seal it from your eyes.'  
He closed the connection and severed it. He would not see into the Morgul stone anymore, but neither could anyone use it to see him. At least not someone like the Witch-King - mighty though he was, he was only a wraith, the shadow of a human, and Wilya was stronger than the mightiest of the Nine Rings, at least in matters concerning sight and hearing. He kept telling himself that he was in fact stronger than the Witch-King, and that the other reigned in terror only because of his eight underlings and his hordes of orcs.

Elrond, lord of Rivendell, envied the Witch-King of Angmar. Secretly he had always wanted to reign in terror, but that of course was not acceptable behaviour for an elven lord. He couldn't even call himself High King of the Noldor, and that was really frustrating. Someone ought to be it, so why not him? At least he would have liked to be a king - did it not say in that stupid poem: "Three rings for the elven-kings under the sky?" ...never mind that Galadriel was a queen and Mithrandir was not even an elf...

Elrond wrapped the Palantír into the cloth Elladan had used to hide it, and set the bundle on the floor behind the chair. He would take it to his rooms later. Then he fished the parchments from under the chair and resumed his reading in a relaxed position. Actually, he was not reading, he was looking at pictures - sketches for a statue of himself.

* * *

Note: Yes, I know - it was unforgivably nasty of Elrond to threaten Elrohir with 'horse steak'. If you ever loved any animal in your life you know how horrible the thought is to an elf so passionately fond of horses. Are you shocked? I want you to be shocked. I want you to realize that in this story, Elrond is not a nice guy at all. He's cold and cruel and selfish. I want you to realize right from the start that he is capable of threatening his son with his worst nightmare - and this is when he is in a _good_ mood!  
(oh, and for the record, I'm a vegetarian. But not because I can't stand the thought of eating cute animals. I can stand the thought very well, and many other horrible thoughts besides, it's the actual eating that I have chosen to live without.) 

I don't know why I'm so fascinated with the idea of 'evil Elrond'. I don't even remember Weaving in Matrix. Before I saw the LotR movies Elrond did not particularly interest me, but the thought that he might try to make hid daughter's decisions for her and mislead her with partial truth, which can be worse than lying - yes, I know he saw the error of his ways, but for me the movie opened wide new possibilities...

Plus, I just love the bad guys. Hmm. I wonder if I should write an 'evil Legolas' fic? (probably the only way I could be inspired to write about him) ... I wonder if it would be too OOC?


	2. Family life

**Two: Family life**

Some days later, Elrond sat reading in his private study, a room that others seldom entered, and which was cleaned only once a century or so. Not that it was a horrible mess - Elrond was, in general, good at keeping order. Just some cobwebs near the ceiling, and dust on those books he did not use often enough. He had placed the Palantír on a pedestal, since that seemed to be the current fashion, in an alcove hidden behind a secret door. When the door was closed the alcove remained pitch-black, and isolated from all sounds. He was taking no changes. 

There was a tentative knock on the door of the study.  
'Who is it?' Elrond asked. He had not been reading anything secret, just the Quenta Silmarillion, yet he closed the book and put it back in the shelf.  
'Relax. It's only I.'  
'Brian? I've told you not to disturb me while I'm here.'  
'This is important.'  
'All right, come in.' 

Celebrían entered and closed the door behind her. 'Well, what is it?'  
'First of all, haven't _I_ told _you_ not to call me "Brian"? It sounds like a guy's name.'  
'Yes, you have.'  
'Second, you have not only allowed Elrohir to go all the way to Rohan to buy a horse, but you made Elladan go with him!'  
'So?'  
'They are both over three hundred years behind in their studies! I hardly ever see them these days! They prefer the company of rangers and horses to their own kind!'  
'So? Everyone can't be a scholar. Rivendell is too small for them. They need to spread their wings.'  
'You just don't care, do you?'  
'Is this the important matter that could not wait?'  
'No. The important matter is your daughter.'  
'Oh, no. Not again.'  
'I'm afraid so. Her ladies have not seen her since yesterday, which is when her brothers left. Her horse is gone. Also, your sword is no longer in its place on the wall.'  
'I wonder whether she dressed as a ranger boy again, or followed them in secret. I wish she didn't steal my sword every time she goes out adventuring.'  
'You wish she would go unprotected?'  
'Of course not! But that is a valuable blade. It used to belong to my grandmother, Idril Celebrindal. Gondolinian blades are hard to come by these days.'  
'Perhaps you ought to give her a sword of her own?'  
'And encourage these mad pastimes? She should learn embroidery or something. A woman's place is at home.'  
'I wonder what my mother would think of _that_ particular notion?'  
'Your mother this, your mother that, blah blah blah. If she's so wise, why did she leave Aman in the first place? By now she could be Varda's right-hand woman, she's so good at bossing people around.'  
'I bet you won't dare to say that to her face.'  
'One crazy woman nagging at me is enough.'  
'I'm not crazy!'  
'So you admit you are nagging, Brian my love?'  
'Don't call me Brian!' Celebrían raised her hand to strike her husband. He caught her wrist and gripped it painfully. His eyes were full of cold hatred.  
'I thought I had trained you better.'  
'Don't hurt me! I'm sorry! Let go of me!'  
'All right, but I'm warning you. I'll come to meet you tonight. You'd better behave yourself.'  
'Y-yes.'  
'Yes what?'  
'Yes, my lord.'  
'See, it's not so hard to please me, is it? You may go, Brian.' 

Tears in her eyes, Celebrían stumbled from the room. She pulled the door shut behind her, leaned against it, and breathed deep, trying to calm herself. She muttered almost soundlessly:  
'And you may go to hell, _Ellie_.' 


End file.
